ACE
I set my alarm for 2:40. Three nights in a row. Not because I had insomnia. I just … needed to make sure of something.
The first night, I just sat here. Nothing happened.
The second night, I made chamomile tea. Still nothing.
The third night—tonight—I sat on the old leather couch facing the door, turned on the dim reading lamp, and opened a book I wasn’t really reading. The tea I made was still steaming on the little side table next to me. Two cups. I didn’t even drink tea, but I kept putting it there. Some kind of ritual I made up for myself. The reading lamp cast a soft glow, lighting up a random stack of books I picked just to make it look like I was reading. And the door … I left it open. Just a crack. Just enough for someone walking by to see the light inside. Just enough to
